


Beneath The Mask

by ceterisparibus



Series: Prompts! [12]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Apparently that's a tag, DareDad, F/M, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this instead of studying, Legal Drama, Matt is a Lawyer, Multiverse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Protective Matt Murdock, Teamwork, yes guys it's finally happening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: After the events of Far From Home, Peter needs a good lawyer.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock/Claire Temple, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Prompts! [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1334596
Comments: 91
Kudos: 239
Collections: Spider-Man Public Identity Reveal





	1. Chapter 1

Peter

When he was in ninth grade, some kid at school figured out that Peter had a crush on this girl. For, like, three years. And the kid told literally their entire class. The girl looked at him like he was an annoying bug crawling on her shoe. Peter almost died of humiliation and could not imagine how he was supposed to move on from that. It felt like the world had been ripped out from underneath him.

Ha.

That was nothing, _nothing_ , compared to this.

Mysterio not only blamed Spiderman for all the lives _he_ took, he also gave away Peter’s _name_.

Peter felt like he was gonna throw up. (Which he knew from very personal experience would be extremely unpleasant, since he was still in the suit.)

Below him, Michelle was staring up at him, wide-eyed. For the first time ever, she looked like she had no idea what to do.

Well, she could join the club.

Other people were looking up now, staring at Peter where he clung to the light post. Pointing.

“Peter?” someone said skeptically.

“ _Peter_ ,” Michelle hissed.

Nope, nope, nope. He couldn’t do this. Without really thinking about it, he flipped off the post, shooting webs at the nearest building, swinging as far away from that street as he could.

But he couldn’t escape the news. It was blaring from TVs and car radios, and people chattered about it beneath. _Peter Parker? Isn’t he a kid? Who is this guy? He looks fifteen. What, he’s in high school? Seriously? Didn’t he fight Captain America?_

Peter couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.

~

He almost literally crashed into May when he slid through his window because she was right there waiting for him _in his bedroom_. “Peter?” she said, holding onto his shoulders.

“May,” Peter gasped out, and it was embarrassingly close to a sob.

“Come here.” She didn’t hesitate to pull him close, wrapping her arms around him, letting him tremble without even giving him the chance to pull off the mask.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, face pressed into her shoulder. “I’m so—”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, voice calm and stern at the same time. “It’s _not_. It’s that Quintin guy—”

Peter screwed his eyes shut. “Quentin.”

“You know what? I literally do not care. Guy’s a bastard.”

Peter blinked, pulling back. May didn’t usually swear. Okay, well, she _did_ , but not when she knew he could hear it. “May—”

“We’ll get through this,” she interrupted, gathering steam. “You hear me? We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

“ _How_ ,” he asked bleakly. His name was out there for everyone to know. He’d never be able to live a normal life, _never_. Never be able to just graduate high school and go to college, double major in engineering and chemistry or something, save lives in and out of the mask. That whole future—gone.

And that wasn’t even counting the fact that the _Bugle_ was blaming Peter for _literally killing people_.

And that wasn’t even counting the fact that anyone who had a problem with Peter now knew exactly how to get at not only Peter but _May_. If he lost her too—

The tears spilled over. He grabbed her tighter.

“Ow—Peter—”

Right. Super strength. He relaxed his grip even as hot despair welled up in his chest because he couldn’t just hug his aunt like a normal person without worrying about _crushing_ her, how was this _his life_ , how was this _worth it_ —

“Peter, hey!” She snapped her fingers in his face.

He pulled back.

“We’ll deal with this. I told you. I already left a message with Pepper Potts—”

Peter blinked back tears. He wanted Tony, _oh_ , he wanted Tony, but he absolutely could not think about that right now. “What’d she say?”

“She didn’t get back,” May said, not quite able to bury the anger in her voice, or betrayal, or whatever it was.

That wasn’t fair. Pepper had so much to worry about already without cleaning up Peter’s messes. Besides, what could she even do? She was a genius with PR, but that wouldn’t give Peter his future back.

The sudden silence between him and May was heavy and new. There weren’t silences between them; one of them was always talking. Today it just drove home how much neither of them knew what they were supposed to be doing.

“Well.” May set her shoulders back, forced a smile. “We’ll just wait until we hear back from Pepper, all right? And if I don’t hear back from her by tomorrow, I’ll show up at Stark Tower myself.”

“May, don’t…” Peter trailed off.

“Don’t what?” she asked sharply. “Don’t try to protect you? Not likely. That’s what we _do_ , Peter. We protect each other.”

Apparently not. Apparently he just dragged her into scandal and danger right along with him. “You’ve gotta go somewhere else. Somewhere not connected to me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because someone might go after you to get to me!”

To his shock, _this_ was the thing that made her eyes water. The sight was like a punch to the gut (a comparison Peter was way too qualified to make).

“…May?” he asked hesitantly.

Taking a step back, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just…you shouldn’t have to think that way. You should just…you should just be a _kid_ , Peter, not…not this larger-than-life _thing_.”

Peter swallowed hard.

“And I know what you do is important, I swear, and I’m _so proud_ of you, I really am, it’s just…” She wiped at her eyes. “This is all so wrong.”

Yeah. Yeah, he couldn’t really disagree with that.

“Okay.” May took a deep breath. “You know what? We’re gonna go downstairs and have ice cream. How’s that? I know it won’t change anything,” she added at the look on his face, “but still. Ice cream helps. Trust me.”

Well, it’d probably help her to help him, so Peter found himself nodding. She left the room with a dire warning that she’d be back to grab him if he wasn’t on the couch holding a bowl of ice cream in five minutes. Knowing better than to test her, Peter shed his suit. Didn’t bother hanging it up, just kicked it under his bed. He didn’t want to look at it.

His phone buzzed. Texts from Ned and Michelle and Flash and other random students and two of his teachers. Bile rose up in Peter’s esophagus. He kicked his phone under the bed with the suit and went downstairs.

May had gotten out literally all of their ice cream, plus everything in their house that could possibly be considered a topping, and laid it all out on the counter. She even got out her super special dark-chocolate-covered-almonds, which Peter was _never_ allowed to touch. Peter’s throat tightened.

“Don’t look like that!” May was adding toppings to her own bowl. “Get whatever you want. No serving sizes tonight, and no rules. You can mix gummy bears with peanut butter on mint ice cream for all I care.”

Peter made a face. “Gross combo.”

“I’m just saying.”

He bit his lip. “Thanks.” And he started putting his own bowl together, and all the while his brain screamed at him, demanding to know what he thought he was doing. He couldn’t afford to wait, couldn’t afford to just sit on the couch and eat ice cream with his aunt. He had to _fix this_.

But he had literally no idea how to do that.

So he made do with the ice cream. Like May said, it wouldn’t change anything, but maybe it would help. And so he ended up curled on the couch next to May, both of them pretending to watch some stupid show. He pretended not to notice how often she checked her phone, focusing on just mechanically eating the ice cream, trying to keep his thoughts at bay.

He failed miserably.

What was he supposed to do now? He—he _needed_ Spiderman and Peter Parker to be separate. He didn’t _want_ to be the next Tony Stark; he wanted a normal life when he wasn’t wearing the mask. And if Spiderman and Peter Parker _had_ to be smashed together, he—he wanted to be _proud_ of what he did. And he was, really, but now everyone thought Spiderman was a murderer, so—so where did that leave him?

It was like those times when you randomly wondered if you were the only person real, if everyone else was just some super sophisticated cardboard cutout. Like, how did you know you weren’t in the Matrix? And were you the same person in the Matrix as you’d be outside of it? How would you even know?

Peter felt fake. Like his normal identity and his superhero identity had both been shredded at the exact same time, and he was left as some in-between, unnamed thing trying to pick up the pieces.

He should probably be trying harder to avoid existential thoughts like that right now.

Peter was about four-fifths through when there was a knock at the door. He dropped his spoon. The utensil clattered against the bowl.

“Stay there,” May said immediately, already getting up. “I’ll see who it is.”

“If it’s not Ned or Michelle, don’t let them in,” Peter blurted out.

She flashed him a smile over her shoulder. “Course not.” The next thing he knew, she peering through the peephole at the door. She swore under her breath.

Peter’s heart started racing. “What? Who is it?”

She didn’t answer. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Before he knew what was happening, she pushed her hair back over her shoulder and opened the door.

“NYPD, ma’am,” said the police officer in a grizzled voice. “Are you May Parker?”

Peter accidentally cracked his bowl. He all but threw it on the coffee table before he could lose control and break the whole thing.

“Um.” May still held onto the door, blocking them; her eyes were wide as she shot a terrified glance at Peter. “What’s this about?”

“We need to ask you some questions about your nephew, Peter Parker. If you’ve seen the news, you can probably guess why we’re here. It’s nothing to worry about; we just need to ask a few questions.” Despite the unassuming words, there was a clear warning in the officer’s voice. But he didn’t try to barge into the apartment. He just stood there, waiting expectantly like he had zero doubt May would go along with what he wanted.

Peter pressed back against the couch, clamping down on the urge to flee, and the instinct to at least jump up onto the ceiling. High ground and all that.

“Um, don’t we need a lawyer?” May’s voice was only a little bit shaky. If Peter weren’t so busy freaking out, he’d be proud of her.

“Of course not,” the officer said soothingly. “No one’s under arrest.”

May shot another glance at Peter over her shoulder. “Does he have to talk to you?”

“Not exactly, no,” the officer said. “But it would really help with clearing his name.”

Peter tensed. They weren’t here to clear his name; they were here to catch Spiderman.

May tightened her grip on the door. “This isn’t a good time.”

“Hmm.” There was something new in the officer’s tone, something dangerous. “Well, that’s your choice. Like I said, no one’s getting arrested here, or even detained. But I should let you know, I’ll have to write a report about this no matter what. And if I say Peter wasn’t willing to talk to us, and if that report comes out…well, that won’t look good. You know what I mean? I’m just letting you know.”

Peter’s heart pounded in his ears.

“We’ll take our chances,” May said. But she didn’t sound certain.

“I need Peter to tell me that, actually. Not you.”

For the first time, the officer leaned into the house, leaned into her space. He had piercing blue eyes, ice-cold. He saw Peter on the couch and gave a small wave. “You must be Peter. Mind if I talk to you for a minute?”

Peter was frozen on the couch. Which was a good thing, probably. Better than jumping up on the ceiling, anyway.

May was pale as a whiteboard. She didn’t say anything. If the cop was right, this wasn’t a decision she could make for him.

Peter knew not to talk to cops; it was all over the internet these days. But it wasn’t like Peter _had_ a lawyer. And even if he did, how would that help him? He wasn’t responsible for those drone, but he _was_ Spiderman. Would he have to lie about that?

The cop sighed. “You don't wanna talk to me. I get it, you have that right. But, listen…” He lowered his voice. “If you don't talk to me, I’m gonna have to go hunt down all your friends and talk to them. Not to mention bring your lovely aunt here in for questioning. And, I mean, if it comes out that they knew stuff and didn’t tell anyone, that will make things…complicated. You get me?”

A chill raced through Peter.

“Do you really wanna cause all that trouble? Wouldn’t it be better to just answer my questions, and then you can get on with your life?”

Peter wasn’t stupid; there would be no _getting on with his life_ no matter what. And everyone already thought he was guilty. If it got out that Peter was refusing to help the police, he’d just look _guiltier_. But at least this way, he could keep May, Michelle, and Ned out of the crosshairs.

So, heart beating so fast in his chest it almost hurt, he forced himself to nod. “Yeah. Yeah, w-we can talk.”

Then he clamped his teeth together before he could keep stammering.

A new light lit the cop’s eyes. “Thanks,” he said, and looked significantly at May until she stepped back. Then he sauntered into the house, his silent partner following behind him.

Peter tried not to shrink into the couch.

The cops stood over him on the other side of the coffee table, neither bothering to sit. “You’re Peter Parker?” the talkative one confirmed while his partner got out a notebook.

Peter just nodded as May hurried over to sit next to him, so close they were practically touching. Tension radiated from her body. Peter tried to ignore it. (He failed.)

“So,” the cop began, looping his fingers in his built. (Peter tried not to stare at his gun.) “Guess you’ve heard the news, right? You know what people are saying about you?”

Peter nodded again.

“Look, we know it’s crazy. We just wanna know why Quentin Beck would say something like that. I mean, how does he even know your name?”

Peter determinedly did not look at May. He locked eyes with the cop. “I was on a school trip in Europe. When the attacks were happening. With…with the drones.”

The cop’s thick, grayish eyebrows rose up towards his receding hairline. “Okay, and…?”

“And…that’s it,” Peter said, a bit helplessly.

“ _That’s_ how Beck knew your name?” the cop clarified incredulously.

Peter wanted to look away. He didn’t. “Um…I guess.”

“Why you, out of every other person in Europe that day?”

There was a hint of sarcasm there. Peter fought to keep his breathing steady. “I don’t know.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s move on.” The cop slowly tilted his head. “Spiderman was also seen in New York during one of your field trips. In fact, Spiderman rescued some of your classmates.”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said, hating how his voice shook a little. “I was there.”

“Right,” the cop said, and just stared at him.

Peter stared back.

“What about your internship?”

Peter choked on his own saliva, started coughing. The cop waited him out, unblinking. “Sorry, what?” Peter managed to say finally.

“The Stark internship,” the cop said, enunciating each word distinctly.

There was a buzzing noise in Peter’s ears. His stomach twisted with all the usual emotions that came with thinking about Tony. The grief. The longing. And the guilt, plenty of guilt.

“Peter?”

Peter shook his head a little. “Um, sorry. The internship. Yeah. Uh…what about it?”

The cop’s eyebrows rose again. “Were you ever at Stark Tower as part of your internship?”

Was that bad? “…Yes?” Peter said, and held his breath.

The cop gave no sign of how he took that; the next question came immediately. “Did you ever meet Spiderman?”

“I, uh…” Peter caught himself twisting his hands together and made himself stop. “I never met any of the Avengers. I—I mean, just Mr. Stark.”

“When did the internship start?”

What did that matter? Peter hesitantly gave the dates.

The cop set his hands on his hips. “Now, by all accounts, that was right around when Spiderman showed up with the Avengers for the first time.”

Peter shrugged stiffly. “Um, I guess so.”

The cop took a deep breath. “Look, Peter, I’m gonna level with you. This looks bad. You know that, right?”

“He’s a kid!” May burst out.

The cop gave her a warning look. “Ma’am, this interview is with Peter. I’ll have to ask you to leave if you interrupt again.”

Peter’s stomach flipped. Could they do that? May’s presence beside him was warm and comforting, a single stable point, a constant variable in the middle of the insane experiment his life had suddenly become.

May glared back. If looks could kill, the cop would be a goner.

The cop turned back to Peter, and his tone was suddenly…almost friendly? “Here’s how I can help you, kid. Give us some alibis for where you were during the drone attack, the attack in DC, and the Avengers fight at the airport. You give us that, we double-check it, and boom: you’re in the clear. Sound good?”

Alibis. _Alibis_. Peter’s mouth was dry. But he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Trying to sound confident at all. “Alibis. Yeah. I can give you those.”

And so, well aware that he was about to lie through his teeth, he started talking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Matt's opinion of Tony Stark does not necessarily reflect my own.

Matt Murdock was having a good day, for once. He woke up not _terribly_ injured from fighting criminals the night before, and actually managed to be on time for work where he got a lot done, including collecting the affidavit of a witness who was basically the smoking gun for one of their cases. Not the first case Nelson and Murdock had taken since reopening, but the first case that was actually wrapping up. Moreover, this particular client actually had enough money to pay them immediately, not in fruits and pastries or with some incremental plan that spanned over a year.

So, yeah. It was a good day.

After work, he headed back to his apartment. It was still too early to put on the horned mask and go out to defend the city, and he didn’t have any projects or research hanging over his head for any of their cases, so he decided to make the best of this unexpected free time. He cooked himself dinner rather than ordering out and settled down on the couch, planning to listen to an audiobook or something while he ate. It was a nice plan. Unusually domestic, for him.

But first he checked the news. And what he heard when the mechanical voice on his phone read out the headlines felt like a kick to the head (a comparison Matt was highly qualified to make).

A man named Quentin Beck, also known as the superhero Mysterio, claimed Spiderman was responsible for the drone attack in Europe. He also claimed to know Spiderman’s name.

Peter Parker.

Now, Matt didn’t know this Beck character, nor his superhero persona. Of course, he didn’t exactly know Spiderman either. Not personally, anyway. But he did know what kind of impact the wall-crawler had on the boroughs he patrolled. Wherever he went, crime rates dropped.

To be fair, the same could be said for the Punisher. Or even for Daredevil. But from what Matt could tell, Spiderman’s methods were decidedly more family friendly. Thanks to his webbing, he didn’t even have to knock the criminals unconscious to subdue them. Matt occasionally used zip ties and the like, but that required being at a much closer range, at which point it was generally far more efficient to simply punch the criminals offline. Spiderman, on the other hand, often webbed criminals up at a distance, then called the police with the criminals hardly worse for wear.

It was impressive. It also made it hard for Matt to believe the superhero would unleash a swarm of lethal drones on innocent civilians in Europe, whatever this Beck person might say. As a defense attorney, Matt knew all too well that the media generally had its own agenda, so he got out his laptop to do some research of his own.

What he found made his jaw drop. Peter Parker, allegedly Spiderman, was _sixteen years old_.

He called Foggy immediately. “We have a new client.”

 _“Seriously?”_ Foggy sounded appropriately delighted. _“Nice! Wait. Wait. Is it a hot babe? It’s a hot babe, isn’t it? You know we can’t date clients, buddy, no matter how—”_

“The client is sixteen years old, so no, I’m not planning on dating him.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then: _“Juvenile stuff’s not really our thing.”_

“It is this time. The kid’s Spiderman.”

The words were met by a brief silence during which Matt couldn’t even hear Foggy’s breathing, followed by a muffled crash. Ah. Foggy had dropped the phone.

“Fogs,” Matt said patiently.

 _“Hold on!”_ Foggy’s voice was distant. Matt heard a clattering sound as Foggy picked the phone back up. _“Sorry, but since when do you know Spiderman?”_

“I don’t. It’s all over the news.” Matt frowned. “Do you even read the news?”

_“Excuse you, Matthew, but I have had a very long day explaining to Mr. Bogert that neither of us are barred in Florida and therefor cannot represent him, no matter how desperately he wants us to litigate among the alligators, and I am tired, and I was looking forward to settling down on the couch with a premade pot pie to watch crappy reality TV, and no, I’m not ashamed of that fact.”_

“Well, someone accused Spiderman of terrorism, basically, and spilled his identity to the public. The kid needs representation, and we are the most—”

 _“Back up to the part where Spiderman’s a minor,”_ Foggy interrupted. _“_ _I’m not computing.”_

Matt shrugged, even though Foggy couldn’t see him. “Well, Spiderman’s alleged identity is Peter Parker, who’s a minor.”

_“I mean, there’ve gotta be lots of Peter Parkers in New York.”_

“Apparently there’s a photo,” Matt said testily, “of a high school student’s school ID. Not that I can verify, which is only part of why I’m reaching out to you. We have to take this case.”

Foggy sighed gustily.

Matt tensed. “What?”

_“Just…we only barely pulled our firm out of the gutter. Is this really the kinda publicity we want? I mean…we don’t even know that Spiderman didn’t do it.”_

True, although Matt hated to admit it. “Which is why we have to at least talk to him. C’mon, Foggy, do you really want someone like Hogarth taking this case? She’ll eat him alive, and probably try to get him to work for her like Jessica Jones.”

_“I mean, does she have working papers to hire a minor?”_

“Not the point,” Matt growled. He didn’t even know this kid, but he did now Jeri Hogarth, if only by reputation, and the mere thought of handing the kid over to her made his hackles rise. “Look, Fogs, I’m—” He hesitated; he really didn’t want this day to end with a fight with Foggy, but he wasn’t about to negotiate on this. “I’m going to ask Karen to find his contact info, and I’m going to reach out. It’s up to you whether you want to do that with me.”

_“We’ve talked about unilateral decision-making, Matt. Repeatedly.”_

Matt resisted the urge to point out that most of those conversations were also unilateral, insofar as they consisted nearly entirely of Foggy lecturing Matt. Which was fair, Matt supposed, given their history, but it was also undeniably ironic. “Will you come with me? Don’t you want to meet Spiderman?”

Matt refused to negotiate, but he was not above cajoling.

Another gusty sigh. _“Fine. But I’d better at least get his autograph out of it.”_

Matt closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you.”

_“But, Matt, listen…”_

Matt's relief instantly faded at Foggy’s tone, which bordered on parental. “Yeah?”

_“You can’t tell this kid who you are.”_

Matt opened his eyes to frown blindly at whatever happened to be in front of him. “Who said I was even going to?”

_“I say. Because I know you. You are the literal worst at keeping a secret identity—”_

“Makes sense why I haven’t been arrested, then,” Matt retorted, indignant.

_“—and you might think you can, like, vigilante-whisper this kid into cooperating, but I don’t have to remind you how spectacularly that backfired with Frank Castle—”_

Matt tightened his grip on the phone. They didn’t talk about the Castle case—that was one of the many mostly-unspoken rules of their new firm. “I’m pretty sure this kid has no incentive to throw himself in prison.”

_“I’m just saying. Don’t tell this kid who you are.”_

“I wasn’t going to.”

_“Could you just agree with me instead of arguing?”_

There were many advantages to sharing a law firm with your best friend. There were, however, also disadvantages. Such as your partner knowing you better than you’d ever want to admit, and said partner being perfectly willing to ignore professionalism to protect you from yourself.

At least, Matt assumed that was a problem with law firms comprised of best friends in general, and not unique to his own situation. “All right,” he gave in, rolling his eyes. “I agree.”

_“Thanks, buddy. Lemme know what Karen turns up.”_

“Will do.” Matt hung up, only to dial Karen. She’d get this Peter Parker’s contact info by the end of the day, he was sure. She was a little bit scary like that.

_~  
_

To no one’s surprise, Karen had Peter’s contact info in less than two hours. Not that either Peter Parker or the adult living at his residence, a Mrs. May Parker, picked up when Matt called. Of course, that wasn’t exactly a surprise either; they were probably being inundated with calls from paparazzi, journalists, bewildered friends and families, and an unholy number of lawyers looking for their ticket into the limelight.

So Matt did the next best thing. He and Foggy showed up at their house.

“What makes you think Spiderman won’t just punch us both in the face?” Foggy whispered nervously as they waited on the doorstep after ringing the bell.

Matt considered it. “Well, he might punch you. I think I’m safe.’

“You can’t use your Daredevil reflexes as Matt Murdock,” Foggy hissed.

“I won’t need to. Spiderman won’t punch a blind man.”

“And you know this how.”

“Intuition.”

“Matt.” Foggy’s tongue clicked on the last consonant of Matt’s name. “You cannot start pretending to have a psychic bond with every superhero in New York. It’s unhealthy.”

“I’m not—I’m not doing that.”

“Just wait,” Foggy grumbled to himself even as he reached out to ring the doorbell again.

Matt cocked his head. “Shh. Someone’s coming.” The TV was blaring from inside the residence, as it had been since Matt and Foggy first arrived, so it was plausible that Peter and May Parker simply hadn’t heard the bell ring. But now Matt heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door, footsteps so silent he had to strain to hear them. The floorboards creaked ever so slightly, presumably as the person rose up on their toes to peer through the peephole. Matt tilted his head at where he hoped the peephole was, trying to look kind and professional and otherwise unassuming as he listened.

“May,” a soft voice said—young, strained, stressed. “Two guys at the door. One of them’s blind.”

This must be Peter Parker. He already sounded like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Don’t open the door,” a woman responded nervously. “We’re waiting for Stark’s lawyers, remember?”

“They look…nice,” Peter countered hesitantly.

“You don’t even know them!”

“I know, but…” Peter trailed off, then rallied again. “It’s not like I can’t make them leave if they cause problems.”

Foggy nudged Matt. “Let’s face it, buddy. They’re not gonna—”

“Shh.” Matt nudged him back. “Wait.”

“How long are we gonna wait for Stark’s lawyers anyway?” Peter asked.

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours,” May reminded him.

“Just lemme talk to them.” And with that, Peter was suddenly unlocking the front door.

Matt quickly stood up straighter, offering a polite smile. Foggy’s spine popped as he followed suit.

The door opened.

And Peter was—yes, he was a kid. Small, heart beating unusually loud and fast, smelling a bit too strongly of body spray, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, arms folded tightly across his chest even as he tried to stand taller, no doubt trying to make himself look older.

Matt instantly resolved to stop at nothing to help this kid. He held out his hand. “Peter Parker? Matt Murdock, attorney at law. This is my partner, Foggy Nelson. We heard about your case. We’d like to help.”

A woman emerged from what must be the living room—she’d shut off the TV before hurrying into the entryway to hover anxiously behind Peter. “We already have lawyers.”

“Stark’s?” Matt asked, tilting his head. (Foggy gave nothing away.)

“What—how do you know that?” she spluttered.

“Reasonable guess,” Matt said calmly. “Spiderman is reported to have been quite close to Mr. Stark.” He paused. He wasn’t a fan of Stark’s on principle; he didn’t appreciate the isolation wealth afforded Stark, isolation from the very people he claimed to want to help, although that paled in comparison to the realization that Stark must have knowingly brought a minor to fight Captain America. The thought made Matt itch to question Stark about what, exactly, justified the use of child soldiers in his mind.

But there was no point getting into that now. In fact, Peter’s reaction—hugging himself even tighter in a self-soothing gesture—suggested that the kid was just as attached to Tony Stark as the reports claimed.

Matt softened his voice. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Then he lifted his chin towards May, Peter’s—not mother, probably, since Peter referred to her by her first name; aunt, then, maybe?—for this next part. “My partner and I can help Mr. Parker better than Stark’s lawyers.”

“Why’s that?” the woman demanded.

“Stark’s lawyers don’t understand everything at play. They defend a superhero, yes, but an unenhanced one, and one who has operated by and large with the backing of the U.S. government, not to mention national governments, to the extent that Mr. Stark agreed with the Accords. The crimes Mr. Parker has been accused of are quite different.”

“I didn’t do it,” Peter breathed.

His heart beat steadily. No hint of a lie.

Matt nodded reassuringly. “I know you didn’t.”

Peter seemed taken aback. “You—you do?”

“I do. I believe you.” He turned to May again. “That being said, Mr. Parker’s situation as a whole still differs significantly from Mr. Stark’s. Mr. Parker operates at the street level as a vigilante. Moreover, Mr. Parker is, as I understand it, enhanced.” He cocked his head at Peter. “Do I have that right?”

“How—how do you know?” Peter stammered.

“News footage,” Fogy broke in, a bit too quickly, like he expected Matt to immediately renege on his promise and start talking about his own abilities. “There’s no other explanation we can think of for how you’re able to do what you do.”

Matt steered the conversation on. “As such, Mr. Stark’s lawyers simply do not have the necessary experience to handle a case like Peter’s.”

“And you do?” May asked doubtfully.

Matt internally braced himself. “Are you familiar with the vigilante Daredevil?”

Foggy immediately stiffened up. _“Don’t do it,”_ he breathed, barely audible, mouth hardly moving. _“Don’t do it, don’t do it, I swear, Matt, don’t—”_

“What’s he have to do with this?” Peter asked.

Matt tried to ignore Foggy’s tight-lipped chanting. “He’s more accurately classified as a vigilante than a superhero, for one. For another, he’s enhanced.”

“Sorry,” May cut in, “but how exactly do you know this?”

_“Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t—”_

Matt bit the metaphorical bullet. “Because I’m Daredevil.”

“Damnit, Matt!” Foggy exploded. “You _promised_ —”

“The kid needs help,” Matt shot back.

“Five seconds, _five seconds_ and you tell him—”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter protested.

“What the hell?” was May’s contribution to the sudden cacophony.

Matt focused on her. “Don’t you see how our firm can better defend Peter than Stark’s lawyers? We understand his world in a way Stark’s lawyers never can. Not to mention that I’ll be able to protect Peter as his case progresses.”

Everyone shut up at his words. Everyone but May, who gripped the doorframe. “Protect?”

“I can only assume Peter has made numerous enemies.” Matt tilted his head at the kid. “Do I have that right?”

Peter swallowed audibly. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, that’s right.”

“Now, his ability to defend himself—or you, for that matter—could be inhibited or even prohibited entirely, depending on the strategy of his case. We can’t assume his enemies will ignore this opportunity, which means he’ll need security. Do you know if Stark’s lawyers can provide that? Because I can.”

“We…still haven’t heard back from them,” May admitted reluctantly.

Matt pressed his lips together. “You don’t need to make a decision right now. But Foggy and I are here and ready to help, starting right now. We’re not doing this for publicity or payment. We’re only here because we believe in Peter and what he does, and we believe he doesn’t deserve to have his life ruined by vindictive lies.”

“Um, about that,” Peter interrupted, suspicion battling relief in his voice. “Why exactly are you so convinced _I’m_ not lying?”

Matt showed his teeth in a smile. “Because I can hear your heartbeat.”

Foggy sighed loudly.

“…Oh,” May said faintly.

Peter bounced up on his toes. “Dude, that _slaps_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that both Peter and Matt are disasters, this should be fun. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is perhaps an unfortunate amount of dialogue but in my defense, everyone here is rather Stubborn. Like, do you know how hard it is to maneuver three totally self-sacrificial characters (yeah, I'm counting May in this group) exactly where I want them in a way that seems even vaguely in-character?

Peter

Daredevil was officially probably the coolest. He charmed his way into the living room and even got Aunt May offering him and his partner coffee. Which, of course, he declined. Because he was cool like that, and apparently Very Focused on Peter’s case.

It was a tiny bit unnerving, actually. Like, it was kinda hard to watch TV and eat ice cream and pretend nothing was wrong when there was a lawyer (and actual vigilante?) sitting in your favorite chair and firing questions at you.

Peter was scrambling to answer while his brain rebooted from the fact that Daredevil was a _lawyer_ (which felt almost as weird as finding out that a vigilante was a police officer), not to mention _blind_. Apparently. Peter hadn’t gotten the courage to straight up ask yet, since that felt rude. But the white-tipped cane was a pretty dead giveaway. Unless it was part of his cover? In which case, brilliant. But also a bit weird? Pretending to be blind just to protect a secret identity? Peter wasn’t totally down with that, but he decided to reserve judgment for now. Maybe Daredevil really was blind. Like, he _did_ say he was enhanced, and he obviously had fancy hearing. Maybe he echolocated.

Like bats.

Or dolphins.

“Peter.” Matt was looking—or not-looking, or whatever—very sternly at Peter, and Peter realized he must’ve missed the next question.

“Uh, what? Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Matt said shortly. Not, like, rudely. But like he didn’t have time to waste. “Both the criminal charges you’re facing and the fallout in the media hinge on your identity; that’s what we need to concentrate on.”

Peter nodded along, trying to demonstrate that he was paying all the attention. (May was sitting next to him on the couch; she put her hand on his knee just for a second before pulling it away.)

“We need to create distance between Peter Parker and Spiderman,” Matt explained.

Peter kept nodding until his brain caught up. “Wait. You mean—you want me to lie about being Spiderman?”

“Uh, we can’t advise you to lie,” the other lawyer said. Matt called him Foggy or something. He’d taken the biggest, comfiest chair in the living room, but he wasn’t even taking advantage of it: he was sitting on the very edge, fingers twisting together. It couldn’t be more obvious that he wouldn’t be here at all if Matt hadn’t dragged him here.

“Well,” Matt said, head inclining slightly in Foggy’s direction, “not officially.”

Foggy raised his eyes to the ceiling and mumbled something too quiet for Peter to make out.

“This is more important than that,” Matt said, apparently to no one.

Peter exchanged a confused glance with May.

But Foggy’s mouth moved again, lips pursed unhappily, and Matt responded: “Sometimes there’s a higher ethic than the American Bar Association’s.”

Okay, Peter’s hearing was above-average, but he still couldn’t make out what Foggy was saying. Then again, he didn’t go around spying on people’s heartbeats either. So.

“Anyway.” Matt turned resolutely back to Peter. “If all goes well, you shouldn’t have to lie. At least, not under oath. We won’t be putting you on the stand, even _if_ this goes to trial, which it probably won’t, so you won’t have to worry about navigating that. And you won’t be talking to the police without one of us present.”

“Uh…” Peter’s heart started beating faster, guiltily, and Matt’s eyebrows drew slightly together over his sunglasses, and, right, he could _hear his heartbeat_ , and it was all much less cool now than it was five minutes ago.

“Something you want to tell me?” Matt asked.

“I might’ve, um…already talked…to the cops.”

Foggy cursed from his comfy chair.

“He said he was gonna interrogate all my friends!” Peter burst out.

“And you think talking to him means now he _won’t_ interrogate all your friends?” Foggy asked in disbelief.

Peter’s throat tightened up. He’d been too panicked to think that far ahead, too horrified by the possibility that he’d already thoughtlessly, selflessly dragged Ned and Michelle into this mess with him, that they could go to _jail_ just because they _knew_ him. And what about May, who’d turned her whole life around just to take care of him? And _this_ was how he repaid her?

If answering a few questions now would make their lives easier, even just for a _little bit_ , it was worth causing more problems for himself down the road.

At least…that was how it felt at the time. Staring down two angry lawyers, Peter wasn’t so sure anymore.

“What did you tell them?” Matt demanded.

“I just gave them a bunch of alibies.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I already had an alibi for the airport attack. Sort of.”

“Oh goody,” Foggy drawled. “ _Sort of_ is just what we like to hear.”

“What is it?” Matt asked.

“Well, um, Mr. Stark set it up like I won this…grant, thing. As an excuse to talk to me. Um.” Peter slid his hands into his pockets and sniffed, trying to distract himself from the memory of Tony Stark, Iron Man himself, casually poking around his bedroom until he found all Peter’s secrets. It would’ve been impossible back then to imagine…everything that came after.

(May put her hand on his knee again, just for a second.)

Nodding crisply, Matt stood up, one foot tapping restlessly. “Okay, great. Will that work for the other Spiderman events as well? It’d simplify things if we can use the same alibi across the board, and simple is, contrary to what legal television might have you believe, usually better.”

Peter nervously shook his head. “They were school trips. The other two times. I told the police I would just randomly go off by myself.”

Foggy frowned. “Why?”

Peter felt his face heating up. “To call my girlfriend.”

Matt and Foggy exchanged…not a _look_ , obviously, but something. “Not to get weirdly personal, but…do you _have_ a girlfriend?” Foggy inquired.

Peter blushed harder. “I think so. I don’t know. I mean, it’s not official.”

“ _What?_ ” May interrupted, eyes flying wide.

“ _Shh_ ,” he begged. “It’s not important. She’s, um, she’s not the one I told the cops about anyway.” He’d hate himself for dragging Michelle deeper into this than she already was.

“So who’s your imaginary girlfriend?” Foggy asked.

“Just a girl from my class. We’ve had a lot of projects together so we actually do talk. Um. Sometimes.” (And yeah, he felt a little guilty for dragging Caitlyn from Spanish into this, but she didn't know anything, so it wouldn’t go too bad for her, right? Right?)

It was immediately obvious that the two lawyers were absolutely not impressed.

Foggy opened his mouth.

“Foggy,” Matt said tightly. “What’s done is done.”

“Let me say this _just once_.”

“He was trying to protect his friends.”

That got Foggy to bristle (almost literally). “And needlessly sacrifice himself in the process? Yeah, tell me all about it, Matt.”

Matt shut up.

Peter had questions.

And no chance to ask them, because Foggy was staring him down. “You do realize, for future reference, that while there’s a _lot_ we can do to make you not talking make sense, there’s almost nothing we can do to make you lying make sense? Once the cops prove you’re lying. Which they will. Since that’s kinda their thing.”

Peter knew that. He _knew that_. But Foggy hadn’t been there. Foggy wasn’t the one who’d been cornered by two cops right after a supervillain splashed the biggest and most important secret of his life all over the news, trying to think past all the fear and guilt. He didn’t want to explain all that, though. Maybe Matt and Foggy would be sympathetic, maybe not, but Peter didn’t want to keep talking about everything he’d done wrong.

So he just caught Foggy’s gaze and held it. “I won’t do it again.”

Probably. Unless he had to. Foggy might not like it, but Peter would _always_ put his friends and his family before himself.

It seemed like Matt, at least, would maybe get that.

It also seemed like Matt wanted to move on, almost like he could tell how uncomfortable Peter was. (If he could hear his heartbeat, then, well…maybe he actually could. Freaky.) “We’ll need to talk to your classmate. And your friends.” He paused, head tilting subtly towards Foggy, but in a weird, secretive way. Like he didn’t want Foggy to know he was doing it, almost. It was all weird, especially because when he spoke, he was still talking to Peter: “How close a relationship do you have with most of the people on those trips?”

“Um.” Of all the things Peter had expected this conversation to be about, the ins and outs of his social life was not one of them. “I’m not exactly popular.”

Matt looked displeased. “How many of the people on those trips would you consider a friend?”

“Ned,” Peter answered immediately. “He’s my best friend. He—he already knows about me. If that’s okay…”

Matt’s frown deepened. “Who else knows?”

“Michelle. She’s, um—”

“The actual girlfriend?” Matt guessed.

“Peter!” May elbowed him. “Since when?”

“I don’t know what we are,” Peter reminded everyone, ducking his head and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Who else?” Matt pressed.

“Who else knows? No one. Not at school, anyway.”

Matt nodded. “And who else on that trip would you consider a friend?”

Peter thought about it. “My science teacher, maybe? Mr. Harrington.”

You’re friends with your science teacher?” Foggy blurted out.

Matt sighed through his nose. “Leave him alone, Fogs. Being teacher’s pet has its perks.”

“Yeah, and you’d know.”

Matt ignored this. “Anyone else?”

But Peter just shook his head, then remembered Matt was blind. “Sorry, I just—”

“He can tell,” Foggy interrupted wearily. “Whatever it is, just assume he can tell.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked. “Uh…”

“Moving on,” Matt said firmly. “Are you saying the only people you have a close relationship with on these trips are Ned, Michelle, and your teacher?”

“I don’t have lots of time for hanging out,” Peter said, a bit defensive despite himself.

“Not the issue.” Matt put one hand on his hip, drumming his fingers against his belt. “The issue is that we need a critical mass of witnesses who’ll be willing to say you were present as Peter Parker while Spiderman was active. Enough to counter those who’ll say otherwise. Can you think of _anyone else_ who’ll do that?”

“Uh—”

“ _Matt_ ,” Foggy hissed. “We are not asking high school kids and a random math teacher to perjure themselves.”

“Science teacher,” Peter corrected in a mumble.

“Same difference.”

“It’s really not—”

Matt spoke over him. “You really think anyone’s going to buy an alibi that conveniently separates Peter from the rest of the group at _only_ and _exactly_ the moments when Spiderman was active? Especially after Peter’s story about his girlfriend turns out to be false?”

“Technically I was gone a couple more times,” Peter told them. “Like, um, Nick Fury wanted to talk to me about the whole threat Beck came up with.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “Nick Fury? Nick Fury knows you’re Spiderman?”

“Um, yeah? Is that a bad thing?” Matt sounded like it was a bad thing.

His voice got even colder. “Does he know you’re a minor?”

“I think he pretty much knows everything, so—”

Matt started pacing, muttering under his breath, probably too low for anyone without enhanced hearing to catch it: “And I thought my opinion of him could sink no lower…”

Foggy coughed loudly. “Refocusing…”

Matt’s head kind of twitched in his direction. “Right. Perjury.” He stopped pacing, faced Foggy, and lowered his voice. Peter still heard it, and he figured May could probably hear it too, but it felt like a conversation between just the two lawyers. “I know you’re uncomfortable with it,” Matt was saying quietly, “but it’s the only way to keep Peter safe. The law won’t protect him, and you know it.”

Foggy’s expression darkened. “It’s asking too much. _None of them_ signed up for this.”

Matt took a step closer to his partner. “If the truth about Peter gets out, his friends might be in danger. This is the lesser of two evils.”

“Yeah, you would say that,” Foggy sighed. He didn’t sound angry or anything; he just sounded sad.

Peter shifted awkwardly, trying to figure out whether he should apologize. He barely even knew these people, but he didn’t like being the reason they were arguing.

“Then we’re agreed?” Matt asked.

Foggy gave an unhappy shrug. “I guess.”

“Good.” Matt turned smoothly back towards Peter, like he’d already left the other debate behind. “Does anyone else know about those times when you left but Spiderman wasn’t active?”

“Um, just my friend Ned.”

“What about your actual-but-not-really girlfriend?” Foggy asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what she knew. Or when she knew it.” He just knew Michelle was crazy smart. She’d probably figured out exactly when he wasn’t and wasn’t around, and why. She probably also wasn’t dumb enough to talk to cops. In fact, Peter had a sinking suspicion she’d be pissed off with him for doing just that in an effort to protect her.

Matt was still pacing. “Fine. We’ll start with Ned, Michelle, and your teacher.”

Peter felt like they’d kinda missed a crucial detail here. “Mr. Harrington doesn’t know I’m Spiderman.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Matt said decisively. “Get a read. I’ll be able to tell if he’s trustworthy.”

Heartbeats. Right. That skill was back to being cool again.

“In the meantime,” Matt went on, “keep thinking about who else you might be able to trust to corroborate your story. Here’s the plan from here on out. Foggy and I will find corroboration for your alibis, and _you_ , Peter, will not talk to cops—or anyone, for that matter—without Foggy or me. We’ll need to make sure you can attend classes from home—”

“Wait, what?”

“I can’t think of a place where you’ll be more vulnerable than at school,” Matt said flatly. “You’ll be dressed as Peter Parker, so you won’t be able to defend yourself with any of your abilities. Nor will you be able to defend your friends and classmates. Anyone trying to either kill you or force you to reveal yourself will be aware of this.”

Peter tensed. “If that’s true, someone might attack the school even if I’m not there, just because they think I _should_ be there. But then I won’t be able to help anyone.”

Matt hesitated, apparently thinking past. “True,” he admitted at last, “but that’s a problem with multiple potential solutions. You being at school is only one of those solutions. I’m not prepared to let you go back there until we’ve ruled out every other possible solution.”

Dang. He sounded so… _logical_. Peter appreciated it, he really did, but he also kind of hated it when it meant he couldn’t be there to protect his friends or the other innocent students who could get caught in a crossfire…because of him. “So you expect me to just sit here all day?”

“No.” The corner of Matt’s mouth turned upwards a little. “I expect you to come home with me.”

May stiffened. She’d been quiet this whole time, which was kinda weirding Peter out, but apparently Matt just crossed a line. “All due respect, Mr. Murdock, but we don’t actually know you.”

“Anyone looking for Peter will look here first,” Matt countered, “and anywhere you try to hide with Peter will leave you both vulnerable once you’re found. Which you will be, if Peter’s enemies try hard enough. At my place, however, I can protect him without compromising his identity. You’re welcome to stay with us as well.”

May chewed on her lip the way she always did when she was making a hard decision, whether it was what flavor of ice cream to buy or what advice to give when Peter needed it most. “If this house is empty, everyone who figures out Peter’s address will know he’s gone on the run. And if you officially become his attorney, they’ll be watching you. Won’t be hard to figure out where Peter’s staying will it?”

“Him staying with me is less about hiding him and more about his protection,” Matt reiterated.

“But wouldn’t it help if I went somewhere else? You know, so they waste time tracking me, thinking Peter would be with me?”

“May, _no_ ,” Peter interrupted, horror building in his stomach. Because she’d do that, she totally would. If she thought it would help him.

May kept her eyes on Matt, whose forehead creased in an expression Peter didn’t know him well enough to read. “It would barely slow them down.”

“But it would slow them down?”

“…Possibly.”

Peter couldn’t believe they were discussing this. “By putting you in danger! Who’s gonna protect _you?_ ”

But Matt looked like he was seriously considering it. “I have…people I could contact. They might be able to help.”

“Oh!” Foggy’s whole face brightened. “So we’re pretending we have friends?”

Matt didn’t bother addressing his partner, keeping his attention on May. “I understand that you want to keep Peter close. And I understand that you don’t really know me or my partner. All I can say is that I believe in what Peter’s doing, and I’ll do everything in my power to protect him. Legally, physically, and otherwise.” He paused, an embarrassed half-smile flitting across his mouth. “If it helps, you should also know that, although I don’t have any kids of my own, I did help take care of some of the younger kids in the orphanage.”

In the what?

May pressed a hand to her mouth. “Orphanage?”

“It’s nothing, it just means I’m not exactly inexperienced when it comes to dealing with, ah, the next generation.”

Peter made a face at that. And it looked like Foggy was struggling not to make a face, too. May, though, was staring wide-eyed at Matt, and Peter could tell he’d had her as soon as he brought up orphanages.

Matt tipped his head to one side in a way that looked way too puppy-like. “So what do you think? Will you trust me with Peter?”

“Does Peter get a say?” Peter asked.

May glanced at him, blinking a couple times. “Oh. Yeah. Of course. What do you want?”

Peter wanted May to be safe. But if Matt really did have other people who could help, that meant she’d be safest farther away from Peter. He took a deep breath. “I wanna go with Matt.”


	4. Chapter 4

Peter

Matt and Foggy gave him space to pack, but May followed him into his room. “Spidey suit?” she asked.

“It’s not—it’s not called that,” Peter pointed out weakly. He knew there was no point to it. “I guess I should take it, though.” Matt would probably help him figure out how to hide it. Which Peter was ninety-nine percent sure was illegal. (He wondered, for a split second, if Matt’s partner would be okay with it. Then he shoved that thought out of his mind. The last thing he needed right now was to angst about his lawyers disagreeing about his case.) Digging the suit out of the closet, Peter buried it in the suitcase.

“You have plenty of deodorant?” May asked, hovering right next to him. “Extra underwear?”

Peter groaned loudly.

“ _Someone_ has to ask these things,” she said.

“Not really,” Peter mumbled, but he dug extra underwear out of his drawer anyway.

May didn’t rub it in. Instead, she slipped out of the room.

He missed her already.

But she was back a second later, coming up to stand close to him and holding something out, biting her lip. Peter’s eyes widened at the sight of several hundred dollar bills. He opened his mouth.

She cut him off. “Don’t thank me.”

He changed course. “Is that from a drug deal?”

“Oh, _Peter_.” Suddenly, her arms were around him. She was shaking, just a little.

He pressed his face into her shoulder. The words slipped out before he could keep them back: “I don’t wanna leave you.”

It was stupid, so stupid. They _literally just agreed_ this was the best plan.

But going to live with a stranger? Right now, when everything else was spiraling totally out of control?

He had to try. But he really, really didn’t want to.

“I know.” Her fingers curled in his hair. “I don’t wanna leave you either, but we have to think smart. And you need to be safe.”

“So do you,” he whispered.

“I will be. Okay? I’m not gonna do anything stupid, and Mr. Murdock said he’d find some people who can help. It’ll be fine.”

She didn’t know that. She _couldn’t_ know that.

He hugged her tighter. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Shh. I know. It’s not your fault.”

“I let him trick me into thinking—”

“It’s _not_ your _fault_.” She pulled back enough for him to see the fierceness in her eyes. “This Beck guy, he was gonna do what he wanted to do. You were just trying to help people. Like always.” Closing her eyes, she leaned forward to press a kiss on his forehead. “Promise me you’ll try helping yourself for once.”

Was that even a promise he could keep? It didn’t matter; she needed to hear him say it. He said the words, but he didn’t know if he was lying.

~

The next couple hours were a blur. Peter threw random stuff in a suitcase while May went back and forth between trying to be helpful and keeping an eye on Matt and Foggy. She was mostly making it hard for Peter to concentrate on not getting emotional, but he couldn’t really blame her. She was always trying _so hard_ to be there for him.

It didn’t seem like she was offended that he was going to stay with Matt, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset. She could pester him about packing underwear and she could give him money, but she couldn’t _be there_ for him from across the city.

Because of all that, it actually was a tiny bit of a relief to slide into a cab with Matt (who’d pressed a business card into May’s hands, telling her to call the number and explain the situation). Matt was obviously worried for Peter, and he’d definitely taken Peter’s wellbeing upon himself even if Peter didn’t know why, but the anxiety just wasn’t the same.

Matt’s apartment was all the way in Hell’s Kitchen. Peter stared curiously out the cab windows, taking everything in. He never had a reason to come here as Peter Parker, and Spiderman was more than busy in Queens. Besides, everyone knew Hell’s Kitchen was Daredevil’s territory.

Peter snuck a glance at Matt out of the corner of his eye. Beyond weird that this tired, slightly rumpled-looking lawyer was the vigilante who made criminals think he was the devil.

The cab dropped them off at a tall-ish apartment building, and Matt led Peter all the way up to the top floor. Peter appreciated that: it was dumb, but being high up always made him feel safer. Unlocking the door, Matt held it open, and Peter awkwardly shuffled in ahead of him, towing his suitcase behind him, only to stop in the long entryway. Like, he was obviously invited here, but that didn’t mean he was about to go snooping around.

Meanwhile, Matt stopped in the hallway to prop his cane against the wall and set his wallet by the little table by the door. But he gestured at Peter. “Go on.”

“Um, okay.” Peter moved carefully down the hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible, like the apartment could somehow tell he didn’t belong here, that he shouldn’t be here, that he was putting everything and everyone around him in danger. Then he rounded the corner, and his mouth fell open.

Matt’s apartment was _ritzy_. But like, in a cool and understated way. Except for the neon billboard outside—there was _nothing_ understated about that, not even the horrible buzzing sound it was making, buzzing loud enough that Peter could hear it from inside. The windowpanes warped the light, making the floor look almost bioluminescent. He wondered what it looked like to people with normal senses. Maybe it was slightly less terrible.

“I know it’s not much,” Matt said apologetically, voice weirdly close behind.

Peter jumped, startled. He hadn’t noticed Matt’s approach, which must’ve been basically silent for Peter’s hearing to not pick up on it.

Matt’s eyebrows raised fractionally, just above his glasses, but he didn’t say anything. At least, not until Peter dragged his suitcase further into the living room. Then he asked, “Is there enough light in here?”

“What?”

“Light,” Matt repeated, skirting around Peter and heading into the kitchen. “Foggy is always complaining that it’s too dark in here. Then again, that’s usually because I’ve called him in to stitch me up or something, and I think he’d just trying not to reward me for getting injured.”

That was…a _lot_ of information to process all at once, frankly, on top of everything else going on. Peter awkwardly set his suitcase down next to the couch. “You get hurt a lot?”

Matt busied himself filling two glasses with water. “Comes with the job.”

“And Foggy’s…okay with that?” Peter tried to imagine May being so cavalier about injuries. So far, she didn’t seem to know how much Peter really got hurt—healing factor for the win. But he didn’t want to even think about how she’d react if she caught him straight after a fight.

“No,” Matt answered, and didn’t elaborate. Reentering the living room, he handed Peter a water.

An awkward silence ensued. Peter sipped at his water and tried not to worry about the state of Matt and Foggy’s relationship. It was _definitely_ not his problem.

But.

Peter was really bad at letting things not be his problem. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

Matt seemed to be contemplating his own glass, without even drinking it. “What for?” he asked.

Peter shuffled his feet. “Just, if my whole case is causing problems.”

“Helping with other people’s problems is my job, Peter.”

“I mean…with Mr. Nelson.”

Matt’s face kind of…it was hard to describe, but it was like a shield went up. “Oh.”

“I mean, you don’t have to…” Peter gestured pointlessly. “Please don’t take my case if Mr. Nelson doesn’t want to.”

Matt’s head tilted to the side. “Are you…firing me?”

“No! No?” Tipping his head back, Peter groaned. “Forget it. I’m not making sense.”

Matt sighed. “Let me ask you a question. Is it possible for you to not know the details behind Foggy’s approach to your case, and still be comfortable telling us everything we need to know, even if you worry that telling us something might cause problems?”

Well, Peter sure didn’t want Matt to feel forced into saying something that was sounding more and more like a big, personal secret, so… “Sure,” he lied.

Matt made what Peter was starting to recognize as his Concerned Face.

Lie detector. Right. So cool, so annoying. Peter hurried to change the subject before Matt could call him on it. “Doesn’t that drive you crazy?” he asked, jerking his head at the billboard outside.

Tilting his head, Matt somehow did the mental math to calculate what Peter was gesturing at. “Uh, no. I really am blind.”

“I mean, the buzzing.”

Matt gave a small laugh. “Oh, that. I got used to that a long time ago. I just tune it out now.”

“How?”

Matt’s head cocked farther to the side. “How do I…tune it out? How do _you_ tune things out?”

Peter shrugged. “Distractions, mostly.” Cons of going to public high school: lots of irritating sounds and smells to tune out. Pros of going to public high school: lots of slightly less irritating sounds and smells to distract himself with.

“Right,” Matt said. “Same thing.”

Peter glanced at the billboard again. It was way more obnoxious than anything else in Matt’s apartment. “What do you use to distract yourself?”

Shrugging, Matt walked across the room to sit on one of the chairs. “I just focus on something else.”

He made it sound so _easy_. It was kinda infuriating, especially since talking about the billboard was making it even harder to shut out the buzzing, which actually seemed to be getting _louder_.

How did he _live_ here?

“Focus on _what?_ ” Peter demanded, and immediately winced. He sounded on-edge. Probably because he was, y’know, on edge.

And Matt gave Peter the creepy sensation that the lawyer was picking up on all Peter’s…on-edged-ness. His voice was even, though, when he just explained, “Something soothing. The fabric of my clothes. The rise and fall of my breath. My own heartbeat.”

Peter was getting a headache; he rubbed at his temples. “I can’t even pay attention to any of that.”

“Oh,” Matt said suddenly. “It’s not the same thing.”

“What?”

“What you said. Distraction. You distract yourself?” Matt suddenly leaned forward, forehead creased like he was working through a long equation and thought he’d just about found the answer.

Peter perched uneasily on the arm of the couch. “Uh…yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Okay. Right. Well, stop thinking of it as distraction.”

“What?”

“Think of it as _focus_. You’re not just…picking whatever input you can find that’s loud and not too jarring, you’re deliberately choosing input that’s calming. You’re focusing.”

Huh. Peter tried to do what he said. And, yeah, when he focused, he could zero in on his own breathing or whatever instead of the billboard. But he wasn’t sure he could keep focusing very long, especially not while having a whole conversation. How did Matt pull it off?

And separately—Peter was glad Matt managed to figure out they were talking about different methods, but Peter couldn’t help worrying that they didn’t speak the same language after all. And they wouldn’t always have time to nail down what they really meant. What if Matt misunderstood something, and it wrecked the case or left May or Ned or Michelle in danger?

The weight of all the trust Peter was putting in him hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking him almost literally off-balance.

“Peter?” Matt was making his Concerned Face again.

He’d probably be making it a lot from here on out. Or he’d realize any second now that none of this was worth it. “Sorry,” Peter said quickly. “I’m just…tired.”

The concern deepened. Matt sighed again, longer this time. “You need to stop doing that.”

Peter grimaced. “Can’t you, like, turn it off? The heartbeat thing?”

“You’re not exactly giving me an incentive.”

Well, Matt wasn’t exactly making Peter feel great about this whole situation. Maybe Matt couldn’t relate to this part of superheroing, since his law partner knew about Daredevil, but Peter had spent most of his career as Spiderman lying—even to the people he loved most. It was basically baked into his personality at this point, and he wasn’t sure he could stop. (He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Did that make him a horrible person?)

“Speaking of,” Matt said.

“What?”

Matt took a casual sip of his own water. “Why’d you lie to your aunt?”

Peter gaped at him. “What?”

“When she asked you to put yourself first.”

 _What?_ “I—I didn’t lie,” Peter stammered.

Matt just raised his eyebrows.

 _Did_ he lie? He didn’t actually know, was the thing, and that was trippy. “I didn’t _mean_ to lie,” he mumbled, because at least he knew that was the truth.

“Look, kid. I don’t pretend to be an expert on any of this. But I can tell you from personal experience that…you can’t always be the hero.”

Peter stared at him. “What?”

“I know that’s the role you’ve carved out for yourself, but it’s not always the role you need to play. Not if it means being unable to recognize that sometimes you’re the one who needs help.”

“I’m here with you with all my stuff crammed in a suitcase,” Peter objected. “I know I need help.”

“Knowing it and living it are two different things. Especially when you’re used to being self-sufficient.”

“I’m not trying to be—”

“Tell me, what’s the difference between Peter Parker and Spiderman?”

Peter dropped his gaze to the floor and fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt. “Um, look. Before I got my powers, I was…not exactly athletic. You know? And now I can catch a truck if someone throws it at me. Not that people throw trucks at me very often, but it’s still happened more than once, which is, like, a weird amount of times for people to throw trucks at you, you know?”

Matt looked confused.

“Sorry.” Peter refocused. “The point is, even though I can do all this stuff now, I…can’t do it as me. I have to do it as _him_. Otherwise everyone’ll know who I am and I won’t get to be…a normal person.”

Matt nodded. “I understand. And I’m not just saying that. I really am blind,” he added, gesturing at his glasses, “which means there’s no normal explanation for what I’m able to do. Which means, if I want to be normal, I have to pretend to be less. That’s not easy. And it’s hardest when there are people who need help.”

“Yeah,” Peter said quietly.

“So what I’m saying is, you’re used to leaning into your Spiderman identity. You’re used to defining yourself by your abilities, and you’re used to living like helping others is your primary responsibility. But all that has to change.”

Peter bit his lip.

“Just for a while, your primary responsibility has to be protecting yourself. And you have to find some other way to define yourself.”

Yeah, no, that wasn’t happening. Like, Peter wasn’t gonna go telling everyone he was Spiderman—that would ruin his life, and May’s, and also seemed like a really terrible way to pay Matt and Foggy back. But he didn’t stop being Spiderman just because he had to _pretend_ to not be Spiderman. And all the things that _made him_ Spiderman didn’t go away, either.

He couldn’t figure out how to explain all that, though.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. For whatever reason, Matt let off the interrogation, changing the subject all on his own. “You want food?”

Peter’s metabolism was lightning fast, and normally he’d take Matt up on his offer in a blink. But the anxiety still had his stomach all twisted in knots. “I’m kinda tired.”

“Fair enough,” Matt said simply. “You’ve had a long day. Follow me.” Getting up, he pushed back a sliding door in the wall, revealing his bedroom.

Peter trailed uncertainly after him, glancing around. The place was basically empty. Like, did someone really _live_ here?

Matt quickly grabbed his phone charger and a weird-looking alarm from the bedside table. “You can have the bed.”

Reaching out, Peter touched the sheets. Dude, was this _silk?_ He turned around to stare incredulously at Matt, who either didn’t notice or pretended he didn’t notice. “I can’t take your bed.”

“Sure you can.”

“But it’s…so _nice_.”

Matt shrugged. “And your point is?”

“Don’t you have, y’know…” Peter waved his hand around. “Enhanced senses? Like mine?”

Leaning against the doorframe, Matt slipped his hands into his pockets. “Enhanced senses, yes. Like yours, that remains to be seen.”

Peter frowned at that; that sounded almost like Matt was planning on, like, experimenting on him or something. Was he? He wouldn’t do that. Would he? Peter cleared his throat. “That’s why it’s all silk, right? It’s more comfortable? I’m not making you sleep on leather.”

“Well, I imagine you’d have a hard time sleeping under my billboard, so…”

“I can deal. I can put my jacket over my eyes or something.”

Matt snorted. “That won’t be necessary. Take the bed, Peter. We’ll figure something else out later.”

“But—”

“Take the bed.” With that, Matt turned around and left the room, like he thought he’d won the argument, which was stupid because he’d barely made a single point. Weren’t lawyers supposed to use logic and evidence and stuff? Or did Matt just walk into a courtroom and boss everyone around?

Honestly, Peter could imagine him walking into a courtroom and bossing everyone around. “You should be a judge,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” Matt’s voice called from the living room.

“I meant for you to hear that!” Peter shot back.

“Not true.”

Peter rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, letting himself be exasperated. Exasperation was nice. Exasperation wasn’t panic, so it was nice.

It was early, technically, but Peter really was exhausted. And he kind of was okay with the thought of lying in the quiet somewhere, able to finally think everything through without May or Matt studying him. He changed quickly into pajamas, worn and familiar when everything else was very much _not_ , and tried not to touch anything as he climbed into bed.

He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. Not for a long time. But Matt’s room was quiet, and the silk sheets were _so soft_ , and he could only handle so much anxiety for so long, and…and maybe it helped, a little, to know he had someone on his side. Not just people like May and Ned and Michelle, who were great and all but who weren’t exactly…well, superheroes.

Not that he was sure whether Daredevil was a superhero. He just knew…it made him feel like a little kid, but he just knew it was a relief to have someone else to rely on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this fic will have, like, action and stuff (in literally the next chapter!) but tbh I kinda love having Matt and Peter just hanging out and getting to know each other, you know?


	5. Chapter 5

Matt

Falling asleep with someone else in his apartment was not easy.

It used to be. He grew up in an orphanage, after all, and then roomed with Foggy. In fact, it took almost two weeks after he first moved into his own place after graduation before it stopped being difficult to fall asleep with only his own heartbeat to listen to. Now, for the last several years, it was all he knew.

But Peter’s heart beat loudly, and once the kid managed to drift off, he must’ve been hit by nightmares. His restless whimpers were nonstop.

Should…should Matt wake him up, or something? Maggie used to do that for him when the nightmares were too much. But it was hard to tell from the outside what was _too much_.

Peter probably needed his sleep.

Then again, it didn’t sound exactly _restful._

Lying on the couch with his tired eyes open, Matt wondered dismally why anyone would choose to be a parent.

Peter made another noise, an anxious moan, and Matt reminded himself that getting his noise-canceling headphones would be the height of irresponsibility. He settled for pulling his pillow over his face, which did absolutely nothing to block out the distressed sounds from the bedroom.

He didn’t know what else to do.

~

Some undetermined amount of time later, Matt woke to a strange sensation. It was distant, not in the apartment, but still impossible to ignore. Some kind of…energy. It wasn’t a sound, exactly. It was more like…a feeling? Tingling, sparking through the air.

He opened his eyes to blackness. What _was_ that?

It was hard to tell for sure, but it seemed like it was…moving? He sat up, cocking his head, trying to get a better read on it. The energy seemed to be crackling out from a concentrated source. Was it a problem with the power grid?

Whatever it was, he wished it would stop. The energy was impossible to ignore, making the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Then a scream ripped through the night. Matt shot to his feet.

A second later, Peter came stumbling out of the bedroom, rubbing tear tracks from his face. “What was that? Did you hear that?”

Matt was already in motion, not wasting time finding a mask or even shoes, just grabbing his clubs and taking the stairs to the roof two at once. “Stay here,” he barked over his shoulder, throwing the door open and bursting out onto the roof and the clear night air just as he heard a second scream, followed by the unmistakable sound of a car crash.

The source of the energy was about five blocks away. Matt took off at a sprint, leaping to the next building, shoulder-rolling forward upon the landing and springing back up to the repeat the whole move at the next building, and the next. This was his city, and he knew it better than his own mind.

He chased the screams, finally skidding to a halt on the roof of a run-down apartment building on the edge of a street, blinking as he tried to force his senses to give him an accurate read past the heavy taste of ozone on his tongue. The concentrated energy source was…humanoid? The shape of a man, five foot eleven, strolling down the street, calmly stepping around a car that had run into a light pole while electricity crackled around him. All other cars were speeding away, and the few pedestrians out at night were scrambling to follow.

Matt braced himself and cocked one arm to throw a club.

But the thing—person, being, whatever it was—noticed him first. The head snapped around in his direction, and the next second, a blast of pure energy knocked Matt backwards, slamming him into the flat surface of the roof. He gasped, nerves tingling, the back of his head throbbing. He’d dropped his clubs, which now rolled idly away. Gritting his teeth, he struggled upright just in time for—

“You all right, Mr. Murdock?” Peter came sailing by, still in pajamas, swinging from webbing. His bare feet scarcely touched the edge of Matt’s roof before he was flipping off, shooting more webbing at the core of electricity.

“Wait!” Matt shouted.

The man at the center of all the energy made a sound, a high-pitched laugh, and aimed another blast at Peter. But the kid was too fast; he’d already landed on a light pole on the other side of the street.

“Hey, Palpatine!” Peter yelled. “You can’t go shooting lightning at people, it’s not— _whoa_.” He leapt off the pole at the exact same second as the metal frame lit up with sizzling tendrils. The pole sparked, and the heat Matt previously sensed emitting from its bulb died.

If there was one good thing about this disaster, it was that Peter was at least keeping the freak of nature’s attention, giving Matt the chance to grab his clubs and reposition himself. If the thing was humanoid, a headshot seemed like the ideal target. And the electricity seemed evenly spread throughout its body. Not like it was coming from a weapon—like the man himself _was_ the weapon.

Headshot it was, then.

Matt threw one of his batons with all the force he could muster; it cracked against the back of the man’s skull.

For a split second, the buzz of electricity winked out.

“Nice shot!” Peter whooped, shooting webs. At the face, at the hands, at the legs. The man tried to move, but couldn’t do more than tug against the webbing. “Sorry not sorry,” Peter called. “That’s just what you get for—”

Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, Peter was shrieking.

Matt grabbed his second baton just as he caught the slight movement of one of the man’s hands, a tiny rotation within the webbing. Then he fired a bolt of condensed energy, catching Peter in the chest.

His shrieks cut off.

Matt launched his second baton, snapping the man’s head back and dropping him to the ground. Leaping off the roof, Matt landed on the street and followed that up by bringing his socked foot down hard on the man’s temple. An instant later, his heartbeat and breathing confirmed unconsciousness.

Matt rushed to Peter, where the kid was crumpled on the sidewalk, curled around himself. There was a wound on his chest, something burned and already starting to blister. Matt crouched next to him, afraid to touch him lest he make whatever happened to him worse. “Kid,” he whispered. “Kid, you okay?”

The only answer he got was the sound of sirens blaring. Still in the distance, but approaching fast.

Fantastic. Normally, he’d stay to make sure the police actually secured the threat in custody—it was shocking how often police carelessness let a perp escape at the last moment, completely wasting all Matt’s hard work—but that wasn’t an option tonight, not when there was webbing all over the crime scene. He had to get the kid out of here. Lifting him up, Matt was struck by Peter’s lightness. So impossibly _small_ for someone who ran around at night in a mask.

And someone who was now injured because Matt hadn’t been able to take down the threat on his own. Shifting Peter’s weight until the kid was half-slung over his shoulder, Matt disappeared down a back alley barely thirty seconds ahead of the sound of tires squealing to a stop in front of the webbed-up body, police radios chattering.

~

Claire

Claire Temple was having a good night for once. No ninja nonsense, which was always a relief, and her shift at the hospital was surprisingly painless. She only got puked on _once_. And then traffic on the way home didn’t even make her use any words her mother wouldn’t approve of. Now she was curled up on her coach with a cup of tea and some mindless TV show playing. Just zoning out.

It was perfect.

Until panicked tapping sounded on her living room window.

Claire flinched, hot tea slopping out of the mug and onto her leg. Swearing under her breath, she set the mug on the wooden coffee table with a dull _plunk_ , grabbed the baseball bat she kept handy just in case, and crept towards the window. Matt was the main person who showed up on her fire escape, but he usually had the decency to call or at least text ahead of time, so—

But when she nudged back the curtain, there he was. Without a mask, which was alarming, but more alarming was the teenaged boy slumped next to him. Matt was panting, shoulders rising and falling fast, but the boy looked almost dead.

Claire shoved the window open. “What the hell?”

“He needs help,” Matt blurted out.

“I can see that,” she hissed. “Get him in here.”

So much for her quiet night.

Together, she and Matt got the boy stretched out on the couch, and now Claire could better see the…yes, that was a _singed hole_ on his chest. Threads of his shirt were stuck to the blistering wound. She gaped at Matt. “What the hell happened?”

He shook his head, now leaning unsteadily against the couch. “Don’t know. New player. Someone with…” He spun one hand through the air, searching for an explanation. “Electricity?”

“What.”

“Can you help him?”

“If I say he needs to go to a hospital—”

“He can’t,” Matt said tightly.

“How is that _your_ decision?” she demanded.

“He’s…” Matt swallowed, like he was actually contemplating not giving her all the information she needed. (She was going to kill him.) But then he came out with it: “Spiderman.”

Spiderman was a _kid?_ Claire had about a thousand questions, but none of them were urgent enough to take priority right now. “Hospital, Matt. Why can’t he go to the hospital?”

“Because he’ll be _arrested_.” Matt sighed, and the tinge of guilt in the sound was overdue for the night. (She wondered if it was actually his fault, or if he just felt like it was.) “The police know his name, Claire.”

She closed her eyes tight for a second. “ _Mierda_ ,” she muttered.

Matt took a half-step towards her. “I know, Claire, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if there were any other—”

“Shut up and help me fix him.” She could deal with the rest of this disaster later. She dashed into her laundry room where she kept her first aid kit. “He’s unconscious?” she called over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Matt called back. Nervously.

“Tell me if he goes into shock.” She returned with the bulging kit, a duffel bag crammed with things she’d squirreled away from the hospital. (She adhered to higher ethics than hospital procedures.) First things first: cleaning the wound. The kid didn’t even react at all when she carefully cleaned the burned threads of his shirt from the blisters. (Matt did, though. He was leaning over her shoulder, flinching, hands curled into fists at his sides.)

(How did he find this kid?)

Once she’d applied an ointment, she shoved a hick pad of sterile gauze at Matt. “Hold this on the wound.” While he moved in to obey, she grabbed a flashlight and gently peeled back Peter’s eyelids. One pupil was massively larger than the other. “Concussion,” she muttered, biting her lip. “You’re _sure_ we can’t take him to the hospital?”

“Not unless we want to send him straight to jail.”

Claire swore under her breath and double-checked his other vitals. Aside from the concussion and the burn wound, he seemed surprisingly okay. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she sat back. “I think he’s stable.”

Matt was still hovering over the kid. “You _think?_ ”

“Best I can say, since you won’t let me take him to a hospital,” Claire snapped. “But there’s nothing else we can do for the wound but keep it clean and let it heal, and his heartbeat’s steady, and he’s not seizing or throwing up or anything. I think all we can do at this point is just…monitor him.”

Matt nodded immediately. “I can do that.”

Claire dragged a hand down her face. “I was gonna make you do it anyway. Are you okay, though?” She squinted at him in the dim light of her apartment. It wasn’t like Matt to let someone else take all the hits.

And sure enough, he immediately looked furtive. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are. C’mere.”

“Claire…” His voice had all the whine of a kid resisting going to the dentist.

“Lemme look.” Since he wouldn’t come to her, she closed the distance between them, running her hands through his sweaty hair. She’d intended to work her way down his body, checking for cracked ribs or stab wounds or whatever, but he made a pained noise and tried to duck out from under her touch when her fingers skated over the giant lump on the back of his head.

Because of course.

She slid her hands down to his shoulders, keeping him firmly in place. “When were you planning on telling me about _that?_ ”

“I don’t know,” he managed weakly, a more honest admission than she’d been expecting.

She snorted. “Don’t move.” To her relief (and mild surprise), he didn’t, allowing her to shine a flashlight in his eyes. “Two concussed patients in one night. Excellent. Just what I was hoping for. Don’t suppose you’re hiding any electrical burns under any of this?” She plucked at the t-shirt he was wearing. “And what happened to your armor?”

“Wasn’t time. And I’m fine, Claire. It’s just the…” He gestured at his head.

“Concussion, Matt. You can say it. _Please_ say it, actually, because I don’t want you denying it to yourself as an excuse to be reckless.”

He dropped his blind gaze away. “Just the concussion,” he mumbled.

She softened her voice. “How’re you feeling? Dizzy? Nauseated?”

“Just a headache,” he said, and contradicted himself a second later: “I’m a little dizzy.”

Frustrated as she was that he’d gone out without armor and hadn’t told her about his concussion, she still felt a surge of affection now that her own adrenaline was dying down a bit. “Sit down,” she said quietly, gently. “Keep an eye on the kid.”

He quirked a lopsided grin in her general direction. “An ear, you mean?”

She rolled her eyes, but she let out a small laugh. Since he could hear the one and not see the other, she was sure he thought he’d gotten away with his cheek. “Sit down. I can’t shove you when you’re concussed.”

“Appreciate that.” He gingerly lowered himself onto the chair opposite the couch.

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna try to squeeze a quick nap in before the next crisis. Wake me up if anything changes with the kid, or else wake me up in an hour.” She was setting her own alarm anyway; she didn’t trust Matt not to fall asleep no matter how hard he might try to be vigilante. “You need anything before I disappear?”

He shook his head again, more cautiously this time. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Claire.”

Something about the earnest way he held himself, like a guard dog with his head cocked towards the kid, made her want to do something stupid. Like kiss him. But they’d been there, done that, and it hadn’t worked. End of story. The fact that he looked all devoted and…and _paternal_ …made no difference.

It _didn’t_.

Whatever.

She escaped into her bedroom, hoping he was too focused on the kid—on _Spiderman_ , apparently—to register anything abnormal about her heartbeat when she looked at him.

~

It felt like she’d barely closed her eyes when someone was shaking her awake. Dragging her eyes open, Claire pushed herself into a sorta-upright position, squinting blearily in the dim light of her bedroom, to see Matt right in front of her face.

“Something’s happening to Peter!”

 _Mierda_. Shoving Matt out of the way, Claire untangled herself from her sheets and stumbled into the living room. The teenaged superhero was still sprawled on the couch, still apparently passed out. “What is it?” Claire demanded, two fingers already going straight for his pulse at his jaw. His heartbeat was…steady. And his chest was rising and falling with slow, even breaths.

Matt pointed at the gauze still taped to Peter’s chest. “That.”

“What happened?” It looked fine. No blood or anything soaking through the gauze, anyway. But after all this time, she knew better than to doubt Matt’s…ears or nose or whatever he was using right now. Grabbing the flashlight and switching it on, she carefully peeled back the gauze.

Her stomach flipped. Maybe she was crazy, but it looked like the injury had _shrunk_.

“Uh, Matt?” she said uneasily. “What exactly are you picking up on?”

“Heat,” he answered promptly, leaning over Peter’s body, head tilting like he was trying to clarify his reading, forehead creased with concern or concentration or both. “Like he has a fever. Just over a hundred degrees. But it’s isolated to the wound.”

“Does anything else seem wrong with it? Like, does it seem infected or something?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “I can’t tell what’s going on.”

Well, if he smelled puss or something, he’d definitely be able to tell. Claire examined the injury again, even more thoroughly, but the only change she could identify was a decrease in size. And…intensity.

“Matt,” she said slowly.

“Yeah?”

“I think…it’s healing.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't even know if the rumors that DD will be in Spiderman 3 are true but it gave me the inspiration to outline a whole fic so I'm riding this inspiration until it drops me.
> 
> And...look. For the record. If you're subscribed to me, rather than to my individual fics, all I can say is that you're signing up for some severe quantity-over-quality nonsense.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at ceterisparibus116!


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